Hold Tight
by Praetor of Rome
Summary: They keep holding together, reaching out a hand when it's needed and learning to read each other and teach each other the most important lessons. Even during war. Especially during war. Written for PJO Ship Weeks.


**Yay, a ship week fic posted on time! (Barely.) Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own PJO. **

**Previous Ship Weeks:**

Week One: Sally/Poseidon and/or Sally/Paul - _Deep Breath_

Week Two: Tyson/Ella - _Teamwork_

Week Three: Grover/Juniper - _Unsent_

Week Four: Silena/Beckendorf - _Once Upon a Dream_

Week Five: Thalia/Luke - _Never_

Week Six: Free Ship - _Living in the Silence_

Week Seven: Free Slash Ship _- Putting the Pieces Together_

Week Eight: Free Friendship - _Don't Tempt Me_

* * *

Chris slumped against the dirt wall, his head spinning.

A shriek of laughter echoed down the corridor, and he could barely manage to turn his head if he wanted to.

It was dark, so dark, and he couldn't tell which way to go anymore. He could barely tell which way was up.

Stumbling forward, he pressed his fingers against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. There had to be a way out, anything, just anything.

"Chris! Don't let them – _please_!"

He tried to run forward, reaching out his arms, but his shoulder collided with a wall. He collapsed to the ground, moaning.

"Don't hurt her!" His voice was hoarse; shouting sent a jolt of pain down his throat.

More laughter, piercing. Bitter.

He curled up against the ground, scrabbling against the wall.

"_Please_." Who was he begging? The faces that had sent him here swam in front of his closed eyelids, but as he watched they dissolved into muddled colors and whispers.

Something ached in his stomach, blossoming into a sharp pain. He yelled out, reaching at the ground to push forward, inch by inch.

Time. Time was blurry, wasn't it?

Brilliant, shining against his eyes, gasping against the wall.

"I'll find you," he murmured. "Or have I found you?"

His knees scraping against the dirt, hauling hand over hand because maybe this was the answer, maybe the ghosts would stop laughing at him, snatching her and making her scream – and _taking her away. _

"Mary…"

Was it a million years ago, or not too far away at all? He could see her, he could see her so clearly, but he couldn't remember what she looked like.

_Are you real? _

The light burned on his skin, and his eyes streamed, but he grunted, pushing himself to his feet.

One step. Two steps.

A path home, there had to be a path home.

Find the string, findthestring, _findthestring. _

The sky was burning, and he couldn't see, the light was too much, he _couldn't see – _

"Stop it." A voice snapped at him, and for a moment he ignored the stabbing pains of hunger, the dry mouth, the light that was always too blinding.

"Mary?"

"No." He could see her now – long brown hair tied back, narrowed eyes. "Who are you? Did you come from the Labyrinth?"

The words swam in front of his eyes, and he collapsed.

* * *

"There's no change," Chiron told her gently, but she pushed past him and slowly descended the stairs, swallowing hard.

Maybe it wasn't good to just sit here, listening and trying to get him to see something other than the visions in his mind, the madness that had taken root in his head. Maybe it wasn't good to associate with one of the traitors when she was fighting so hard to make sure Kronos couldn't touch camp.

Clarisse pretty much didn't care.

"It's me again." Her voice was rough, quiet. "Clarisse. Do you remember me?"

His eyes were dark – so dark, and sometimes she had to look away.

"It's so cold…so…they're coming, Mary. Run, just run!" he shouted, and she threw a look up the stairs to see if anyone might have heard.

"You're safe now," she said gently. "If you can tell me what's wrong we can help you."

His eyes locked onto hers, and she shivered because he was staring straight at her and yet he was looking right through her.

Chris couldn't see her.

And sometimes she thought she could glimpse his demons, around the corner, behind the door. Phantoms coming to drag her away. How could anything not real be so powerful? But she told herself again that a few tricks of the mind weren't going to bother her. She was powerful. Determined to stay on top. Daughter of war.

But Clarisse was drawn to him, and she sat there, listening and talking for hours, but it did no good. She could never understand why she wanted to, why she kept coming back, but she couldn't abandon him.

She swore that it never mattered that he had once been part of Kronos's forces. People could change, and no one – _no one, you understand me! _– deserved this.

Days after days after days, sitting next to him, sometimes taking his hand, and through her coaxing, through her patience, asking him over and over again to just see her.

* * *

Clarisse waited outside the Big House, pacing. She clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to figure out why her stomach was completely misbehaving. She felt sick; she felt nervous. What if it didn't work?

What if it did?

She would never have guessed that Mr. D would be willing to help, but she supposed everything was changing now – not just the loss in the battle, but the knowledge that even though they'd won this time, Camp Half-Blood wasn't a safe haven for demigods. Nowhere was safe for demigods, not with the enemies they had now.

Chiron was the first to return to the porch, trotting out with an unreadable expression.

She paused in her pacing, searching his face for a glimmer of hope. She didn't dare ask.

"They're on their way up," Chiron said and smiled.

Clarisse nodded, but for the first time since they'd entered she took a deep breath and let it out.

Mr. D exited the house next, and she opened her mouth, trying to think of something appropriately polite and grateful enough (because even the daughter of war knew it was best not to anger a god when he was in a helpful mood), but he simply waved her off and continued away from the Big House, in roughly the direction of the strawberry fields.

Chris stepped out last, squinting a little as he took in the brilliant sunlight and surroundings of camp.

As she took a step towards him, Chiron nodded to her and trotted around to the side of the house.

Oh gods. What should she say?

He solved that problem for her.

"Hello," Chris said.

"Hello." The word almost caught in her throat. She tried to stand up straighter. "Do you…do you remember me?"

A few seconds passed, ticking away bit by bit.

He smiled. "Thank you, Clarisse."

And then their eyes met, and she knew.

* * *

"I don't remember exactly," Chris muttered. "It's sort of a haze, but some things stick out."

"Anytime you don't want to say something," she reminded him.

"I know. I do." Chris squeezed her hand. They were sitting near the edge of the canoeing lake, watching a couple of campers in their boats shout at each other about who won a race while a couple of others tried to negotiate a rematch.

"I started hearing voices not too long into the Labyrinth," he explained, trying to keep his voice steady. It was bizarre, taking a matter-of-fact tone about what he had seen and what he had been through. The strange glimpses and laughing ghosts and blinding, blinding light seemed like another life, but it was still part of him.

Should he ignore it or acknowledge it?

That day was one of the "acknowledging" times, and he tried to only address what he felt comfortable with. Occasionally put a humorous or casual spin on it. Perhaps that was a coping mechanism, but it did work.

"But the weird laughing didn't start until later." Chris barely suppressed a shudder. "And apparently you can think the temperature's changing if it's not really?"

He stumbled over words, and eventually switched the subject practically mid-sentence, but she didn't push him, didn't judge him.

Just listened.

* * *

Fire was burning inside of her – anger and grief lashed out at Kronos's army, and they wouldn't dare touch her. The drakon carcass looped out behind her, and she would shout until her voice was hoarse, she would never let them escape her.

Clarisse wanted to challenge every monster and run them through with her spear – meet Kronos in battle and show him why she shouldn't be messed with. Why no one should _ever _take her friends away from her.

The taste in her mouth was bitter because she couldn't believe she never saw it coming, she had thought Silena was her friend – _she _was _my friend _– but everything that Silena had bottled up inside, chose to do, chose to fight –

_I should have fought from the start. To protect her. _

She would not, could not, let herself give into the grief, to the ache tugging on her heart. Better to give in to the rage, to use it to protect the demigods and protect the world.

Silena was gone, she was a spy – and for once there wasn't a direct enemy Clarisse could fight.

She didn't know what to do.

* * *

Chris knew what it was like to watch, to wait, to stand by and lose a friend and not understand that there's nothing you can do.

It befuddled him, her stubbornness to not fight. But then she was equally stubborn in challenging Kronos, entering the fight with a whirlwind power that almost terrified him.

He carefully approached her chariot, not entirely sure she wouldn't impulsively lash out at him. This was her way of burying her pain, her confusion.

For as strong as she seemed, Chris knew her well enough to recognize that inside she was falling apart.

And he was scared, but he could have enough courage for the both of them. He was better at this type of courage anyways.

* * *

Chris finally dragged her back to one of the command tents, shooting one of the Athena kids a look until she cleared out for a moment or two.

He wrapped his arms around Clarisse, and she grudgingly rested her head on his shoulder.

"You don't have to be invincible to be a hero," he whispered.

Clarisse lifted her head and stared at him, a mix of anger and confusion on her face.

He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a small smile, and he could almost see the walls of anger slowly crumbling away, at least in that moment between the two of them.

For the first time since Silena's death, she cried.


End file.
